Forgotten
by SameOldAntics
Summary: America's reign as a superpower is lost and Canada has taken his place.   Feeling Jealous and lonely - unneeded and unwanted, Alfred struggles to keep going.   F.A.C.E. fic


His blue eyes shined confidently behind his glasses as he loudly vocalizing his opinion on how they should fix the economic crisis. Sweeping the ashy-blonde hair from his eyes, he pointed to a diagram, index finger jabbing against the different sections of the pad, explaining each part of his idea with a wide grin. His confidence had sky rocketed ever since he became a superpower, enjoying all the attention he would get. The spotlight was always on him and he loved every second of it.

The Western nation felt on top of the world.

It was good to be Canada.

But, for every rise, there would be a fall. As Canada's economy rose and more nations began to rely on him, the need for America's help grew limited. And, eventually, America was completely pushed out of the spotlight, forced to give up his title as a superpower to Canada.

Alfred had become Matthew, figuratively and literally.

He was now the country nobody noticed, the unoccupied chair in the room that people refused to venture near. And, when he was noticed, he was mistaken for his brother.  
>This had both its ups and downs. America hated not being noticed, hated being mistaken for someone else, he loved himself and was damned proud of who he was - …On the other hand…Everyone was so much nicer to him now that they thought he was Canada. He wouldn't be verbally or physically attacked – and, he hated to admit it, but those moments when Cuba hadn't recognized who he truly was and greeted the American with a large hug were nice.<br>Well, until Cuba realized it was Alfred and mercilessly began to beat him.  
>That wasn't all that nice.<p>

Alfred's fingers drummed quietly against the tabletop as he watched his sibling present his speech. He sounded so smart, sophisticated, using big fancy words that sounded important. Alfred's speeches were never like that, instead of catching people's interest with words, he'd use big flashy drawings.

His glaze glanced around the attendees at the meeting, watching Canada respectfully. They jotted down notes and the occasional hum of approval would emit from one of them.  
>They never did that with America.<p>

When he gave his presentations, they'd roll their eyes, interrupt him, and talk amongst themselves. He never had this level of respect.

They liked Matthew more than Alfred.  
>Everything about him was better – he was nicer, smarter, modest, respectful, hell, even cuter with that big white polar bear constantly clutched to his chest. It was easy to forget Alfred, when someone like that was the replacement.<p>

He leaned back in his chair, quietly day dreaming. He thought about what would happen if he just got up and left, maybe someone would notice him, go after him, plead for him to stay. A smile graced his lips. Of course they wouldn't go after him. They wouldn't notice him and even if they did, they wouldn't care enough to go after him.

It wasn't until a heavy German voice announced the end of the summit, that Alfred realized Matthew's speech was over. Quietly, he pulled his papers into his briefcase and stood, glancing over the room. His brother occupied the corner, chatting cheerfully with Francis and Arthur, who appeared to be praising him for his speech.

France's hands drifted in delicate movements in front of him, as if they were two ballerinas dancing to a pretty song, white Arthur, on the other hand, moved with more wild and exaggerated motions, contrasting against the charm of the Frenchman. Canada stood with his bear clutched to his chest and his head cocked to one side, nodding his head and laughing lightly at some joke exchanged between the three.

Alfred's eyes narrowed in jealousy, studying the trio in the corner, before retreating out of the room.  
>Nobody said goodbye.<p>

He had never really understood how Matthew felt before, but now that he was in the dark, treated as if he was made of nothing but air, he felt the loneliness that his brother must have felt on a daily basis.  
>But…But even then… It couldn't have been this bad, right?<br>He couldn't have had it this hard.

Canada always had someone there for him – France, Cuba, even Prussia. They'd talk to him, they'd notice him…  
>But nobody noticed Alfred. Even Arthur, the man he'd been raised by, the one who had been there for him the most, not even he would acknowledge his presence.<br>Worst of all, Canada would ignore him. Alfred had never done that to his brother! He always acknowledged him, gave him his time – but when he approached his brother, Matt would just turn his head and walk off. What had he done to upset the other? Why wouldn't he tell him what was wrong?

His boots tapped against the sidewalk quietly as he walked, the air around him growing cooler as the sun set. Why did he even attend these meetings? It wouldn't matter if he attended that summit or not, nobody would care either way. Why did he still insist on flying to the country to attend?

He knew why he came. It was because he had hope. Hope he would be noticed, someone would talk to him, he'd feel like he mattered.

It never happened.

His feet moved faster, briefcase clutching to his chest, eyes glued to the ground and shoulders hunching up. That damned fit was coming, where his chest would constrict and his stomach become ice cold, while his eyes began to burn, tears welling up. These crying fits were frequent. The smallest little thing would set him off into a blubbering mess – he tried to force it away, squeeze his eyes tight and will away the tears, but they were coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

A small sob left him and his knees buckled, dropping down on the sidewalk with a choked cry. Quietly, he curled up into the bushes, face pressing to his knees and body shaking violently.

God he was lonely.


End file.
